The Good School
by Serafina Claremond
Summary: Eleanor Shellstrop has been plucked from her ordinary life to attend a prestigious boarding school, thanks to her intelligence, social activism, and passion for the performing arts. Except, they have the wrong forking girl. / The Good Place High School AU / ChidixEleanor


There were only three things on Eleanor's mind: her headband was itchy, it dug into her scalp, and it was the actual worst. It was a required part of her new school uniform, since the dress code explicitly stated that all hair must be held firmly in place. _What kind of rule was that? Hair must be held firmly in place? Please._ The racial undertones were not lost on her.

The secretary, whose name Eleanor hadn't bothered to remember, called from her desk with a sticky-sweet smile, "Miss Shellstrop? The headmaster will see you now."

As she stood from the ancient chair she'd gotten comfortable in, a tall, white-haired man popped his head out of his office and smiled. _Everyone loves smiling here._ "Eleanor Shellstrop? It's so wonderful to meet you."

"Yes," she said, shaking his hand, "it's great to meet you too, Mr—"

"All students are welcome to call me Michael."

"That's…progressive of you," she replied.

He ushered her inside his office and handed her a small water bottle and an individually-packaged sugar cookie covered in blue and gold icing — the school's colors. "I like to encourage an open and transparent environment here amongst student and faculty. I'm sure you and your parents read through the brochure before your arrival, and I must say, I'm surprised and disappointed they weren't able to come see you off."

"That makes one of us," she mumbled.

If he heard her, Michael made no comment and continued on with his spiel. "All of the main housing and academic policies will be gone over at orientation in just a few minutes, I'll even walk you there myself. But I just wanted to review your file with you, especially because it's so rare that we even accept students so close to the start of the school year."

"Thank you for allowing an exception," she interjected.

"Nonsense, Miss Shellstrop," Michael said as he opened a folder marked with her name. "You are an exceptional student and it would have been my biggest failure had I not successfully championed your application with the rest of the school board. You had a 3.9 unweighted GPA transferring in, volunteered with your local city government, and your passion for the performing arts made you an incredible candidate and a shoo-in for our program here at Iverson Academy for the Gifted."

"Iverson Academy for the Gifted," she repeated, "Cool."

"Enough about your accomplishments, I'm sure you've heard praise all your life, so why don't I walk us over to the first day orientation and I can start selling Iverson to you?"

They stood together and Eleanor tugged on her sky blue plaid skirt, just one more thing about the whole situation that made her deeply uncomfortable. Michael guided her down the hallways, which were decorated with various portraits of presumably past headmasters and founding figureheads. She mused, "A lot of old white men roamed these halls."

"Iverson Academy was once an exclusive boarding school for privileged sons of wealthy families," Michael replied, "it's a bit of a sore spot, understandably, but in 1975, we opened our doors to everyone."

 _To everyone who could afford it._ He continued, "Of course, the price tag is still hefty, but several of our alumni are kind and generous enough to help fund scholarships for those who wouldn't get the chance to be here because of a silly thing like that. Like you."

They arrived at a pair of huge wooden doors that looked important to Eleanor. "One question: how did you find me in my little podunk part of Phoenix?"

"Paradise Valley is only thirty minutes away,," Michael reminded her, chuckling at her description. "At the end of every year, the school board will appoint a search committee tasked with finding students that exceed the expectations of their surroundings. Normally, I wouldn't boast, but I was the one who found your records at Thunderbird High School."

She didn't know what to say. "T-thank you."

"Nonsense, Miss Shellstrop. It is my pleasure to provide you with the opportunities you deserve. Unfortunately, we weren't able to find you until your senior, but you're here now." Michael pushed the door open to reveal a grand hall, filled with students in matching uniforms, all buzzing with excitement for the new school year. "It's time for orientation."

It took all her strength and willpower not to roll her eyes or comment about how ridiculous it was for students in uniforms to be as cheery as they seemed to be. Michael vanished from beside her, suddenly appearing near the steps of the stage. She was on her own now, but Eleanor was used to that.

She walked towards the back of the hall, hoping to avoid the peppiest of her new pep-filled classmates. There was an empty seat next to a boy who'd already thrown his jacket off, onto the back of his chair, slouching over in a light slumber. Anyone who couldn't even fake caring about the rules was the type of person she wanted to be a little associated with.

"Is this seat taken?"

The boy, who looked somewhere between Chinese and Filipino, opened his eyes and nodded, going back to sleep once more.

"Cool." Eleanor sat back into her new seat, eyeing her new peers. She smoothed her skirt over her knees, noticing that all the other girls' skirts were pressed and wrinkle-free. _Is this really my new normal?_

"Good morning, everyone. I hope you are all as thrilled as I am to be here today!" Michael cheered, kicking his leg up from his excitement. "As most of you recall, I was a teacher last year, but am pleased to announced that I am now Headmaster here at Iverson Academy for the Gifted."

The hall burst into applause, most students whooping and hollering. "Thank you, thank you. To all the returning students, welcome back! I am certainly looking forward to what the new school year will teach you. This morning you have the choice to head over to your homeroom or stay here to help your new classmates acquainted to Iverson after their own orientation."

Majority of the room stood and started to walk out, their mindless chatter acting as white noise for Eleanor as she felt herself drawn to sleep. Michael added, "Oh, there's tea and breakfast pastries in the cafeteria as well! Help yourselves."

A few of the teachers ushered the remaining students to move closer to the front. Eleanor wanted to push back, but decided it was in her best interest to make a decent first impression. The sleeping boy followed her with his jacket crumpled in his hands.

"You're awake."

He nodded.

"You don't talk," she stated.

"Not much," he replied. The boy didn't bother to continue or go back to sleep, instead sitting straight up, ready to listen to Michael's welcome spiel.

She whispered, "I'm Eleanor Shellstrop, senior."

"Jason Mendoza, junior."

Eleanor tugged on her blonde hair, scratching her neck in the process, and sighed. She knew she needed to make allies soon, people to study with to help keep her grades up. The fact the walls were probably made of really expensive wood, like mahogany, was proof enough this school meant business.

"Only the brightest and most diligent," Michael was saying, "are granted an invitation to come here. You are all here because you are the best, the true cream of the crop. So welcome to the most challenging and rewarding experience you could ever dream of. We are not just the 'Good School' as our neighborhood reputation claims, we are the best. Welcome to Iverson Academy."

* * *

"Is there anyone that I would have heard of that graduated from here?" Eleanor asked as she followed Michael to her new dorm room. She quickly added, "I've known about Iverson's spectacular status by just being in Phoenix, but I'll admit, I'm not well-versed in its alumni."

"Of course, Miss Shellstrop. As you saw in our Hall of Headmasters, this school was originally dedicated to the education of privileged, but incredibly intelligent sons. Mostly the sons of politicians and foreign diplomats. And in all honesty, that's still true for today. Majority of our students, boys and girls, come from political backgrounds all over the world."

"Wow," she replied, doing her best to sound impressed. She doubted it really was the best and brightest here - just the ones who came from the brightest families who could afford it.

"Ah yes, this is your dorm." He handed her a small envelope, heavy in her palm, and she slipped a bronze key from it. "Yours is a single, as you were a last minute addition to the roster, and this is a co-ed floor. I hope you don't mind that."

She exhaled, and her shoulders relaxed. _I don't know how I would've made it living with a bunch of girly girls._ "That's perfectly fine."

"Wonderful, Miss Shellstrop!"

"Why do you call students by their last names but encourage us to call you Michael?"

"I'm from a very traditional family, it's quite the habit to break," he replied, ushering her into her room. He hovered at the doorway and explained, "Faculty are not allowed to step into a student's room in any circumstance except for emergencies."

"Faculty...of the opposite gender?" The walls were a faint blue-grey with a floral pattern, and more wood paneling that matched the rest of the school. There was a large window with an exquisite view of a well-kept courtyard with a working fountain.

"Of any gender. It's a relatively new policy."

Eleanor dropped her two duffle bags on the floor next to her full-sized bed. _They really don't cheap out here._ "That the traditionally conservative school board approved?"

"We haven't experienced any dangerous situations without the policy; however, we felt it was better to ensure our students' safety with a preventative policy instead of waiting for an issue to occur."

"Excellent."

"As this is an old building, its original use was not to house students for extended periods of time. So there are no closets or attached bathrooms. All rooms do come with wardrobes, a chest of drawers, and a bookcase for your things. As you can see, there is a desk already stocked with notebooks, binders, and every other office supply you can think of."

"That's impressive and generous, thank you. I didn't bring any other than the school uniforms." _Since that was all I could afford_.

"You are welcome, Miss Shellstrop." Michael looked at his wristwatch. "Your floor advisor should be coming to greet you and take you to your first class. Here is your schedule."

She walked over to him, uneasy about allowing him full entry to her room, and took the slip of paper to read through. _Modern American Literature, British Literature, Advanced Calculus, Advanced Government, Economics 1, BioChemistry, The Philosophy of Ethics,_ and _Woodworking._ "Woodworking?"

"It was the last elective with open seats, my apologies."

"It's fine," she waved him off.

"Do you find the rest of the schedule suitable? We didn't want to overload your first semester with us."

"This is just for one semester?" Eleanor snapped her jaw shut.

"Yes, you will be able to pick your own classes for the spring semester."

Eleanor groaned internally, but stuck a smile on her face, hoping Michael wouldn't notice the dead look in her eyes.

"Hello, Michael, and you must be Eleanor. I'm Tahani Al-Jamil. Oh, look at you, you are so sweet and teensy," a leggy brunette with caramel-colored skin said, gliding into her room. The girl poked Eleanor's nose and smiled. "Boop."

"Oh, you booped me." Eleanor kept the scowl off her face.

Tahani gave a clipped laugh. "Yes, I did."

"That's fun."

"You two look like you are going to get along swimmingly. Any questions you have, Miss Shellstrop, should be directed to Miss Al-Jamil here. She'll be happy to entertain you, isn't that right?"

She reached up to clutch her necklace and gave a long sigh, like she was wishing for something else. "I simply adore entertaining."

Michael said his goodbyes and strutted away, Eleanor listening to his footsteps grow faint. "Can I ask where that accent is from?"

"High society London. Go on and grab your things, I ought to take you for your first class."

"Why would you leave London for bumfu-fork Arizona?" Eleanor picked up her backpack, emptying its contents, which were mostly snacks she had doubted would be available here. In this prison. She grabbed a notebook and a couple pencils from the desk - _her desk_ \- before stuffing them into her bag.

"Well, I was born in Pakistan," Tahani replied, flipping her hair gently over her shoulder, "had some schooling in London and then Paris, before my father decided it was time to do business in the States and brought me along, leaving my mother and sister Kamilah in Paris."

The pair of girls walked down the halls, with Eleanor struggling to keep up with Tahani's long stride. "I noticed Eleanor that you almost swore when describing Arizona. While the description was rather precise, I do have to warn you that the teachers here do observe a more conservative outlook on language."

"You don't say," she said, rolling her eyes. She couldn't stop herself this time. Of course, she could tell that swearing wasn't exactly welcome here, it's why she said bumfork. Bum _fork_. Who was this girl?

"Now, you'll attend 4 classes per day, excluding homeroom, and the schedule alternates. Somehow by the end of the term, it'll all even out so you needn't worry about that."

"I wasn't, but thank you."

"My pleasure," Tahani said, placing her hand on Eleanor's shoulder, and ignored the blonde's obvious recoil. "Due to orientation this morning, we'll be skipping homeroom and here's your first class at Iverson Academy. The Philosophy of Ethics."

Eleanor hovered at the door, hesitant to enter, until the small Asian woman sitting at her desk looked up and called her in. The teacher had short black hair, and thin, wire-framed glasses, and smiled, "You must be Miss Eleanor Shellstrop. I'm your Ethics teacher, Jessica Yeh."

"Ethics," she repeated, breaking the word up into long syllables.

"It's a senior requirement," Jessica replied, before turning to the rest of the class. "This is one of the new transfer students, Eleanor Shellstrop. Where are you from?"

"Just down the street in Phoenix."

"Nevertheless, welcome to Iverson. Please have a seat next to Chidi."

A lean, athletic boy raised his hand and she did as she was instructed, dropping into the seat next to him. He had deep brown eyes, with light flecks of gold she noticed when the streaming light from the windows hit him just right, black framed glasses, and dark skin that looked soft and inviting. Eleanor shook her head and introduced herself, "Hi Cheeto, you can call me Eleanor."

"I-it's Chidi," he corrected her. "Chidi Anagonye. Nice to meet you. Do you like clowns?"

She had pulled out her notebook and placed it on the desk, not even noticing the giant clown on its cover. "Oh my fu-forking god. Is everyone's notebooks like this?"

"No, our school supplies are actually customized by the school," he whispered. "Mine has Plato and Socrates making the Spy Vs. Spy pose. I love it."

"Right, nerd," she said under her breath.

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing, I didn't say anything. What's the rest of your schedule look like?"

He rattled off his list of classes, his excitement growing with each one, before ending with, "I have BioChemistry today too."

"Perfect!" She exclaimed just a touch too loudly, drawing the attention of her peers once again. Ignoring Chidi's side-ey, Eleanor quickly lied, "Iverson is perfect! The revelation is just happening right now. Sorry, Miss- Jessica."

"That's fine, Miss Shellstrop. Please continue to focus though." Their teacher smiled and continued going over the semester syllabus and what she expected each of them to learn by the time finals rolled around.

In a hushed voice, Eleanor asked, "Can we meet after this class? I want to make sure I'm all caught up in Biology and Chemistry. Because that's what BioChemistry is, right?"

"Y-yes. BioChemistry is the study of chemistry within living biological organisms."

"Right, exactly, so what do you say? Partner up?"

"Sure? Sure, I guess."

Eleanor beamed at him and turned her attention back to Jessica,who was now giving a brief rundown on the most famous philosophers.

* * *

Five minutes into their short break between classes, Eleanor had finally stopped dragging Chidi and freed his hand from her deathgrip. He cupped his own hand, massaging lightly, and flinched at the pain. "Eleanor, what's wrong? Is everything okay? Also, you're really strong."

She noticed he spoke with a faint accent. "Where are you from, Chidi?"

"I was born in Nigeria, completely accidental, apparently I couldn't wait to get out of my mom before she got home from her business trip. So I grew up in Senegal," he explained, sitting down on the window bench in the empty hallway. "But my dad was an esteemed ethics professor, and was asked to do speaking engagements all the time, so he took me along. I spent some time in Hong Kong and Paris, picking up a little bit of both languages, before he died."

She sat beside him and reached for his hand. "I'm so sorry."

"It happened when I was 12, and since then, my mom and I have lived in the States. She helped out on the Obama campaign, but not publicly. Wouldn't have helped the American part of his angle." Their hands were still intertwined and he immediately pulled away. "How about you?"

"From Phoenix, Arizona. Dad died when I was 15, but I hadn't seen him in 3 years since he left my mom and me. Then I got emancipated from my mom because she was an alcoholic who forgot she had a daughter still."

"And despite all that, you got into Iverson Academy on an academic scholarship. Is it true that you worked on the Paradise Valley's mayor's office?"

She didn't say anything, instead letting an awkward smile rest on her lips. Chidi smiled back and admitted, "I don't make friends every easily, Eleanor, but I feel like I can trust you. Is that stupid?"

"No, that's great!" She took her headband off and ran her fingers through her hair, feeling weightless. "In fact, I need you to promise me that you would never betray me. Like a friendship vow."

"I promise you that I will never say or do anything to cause you harm."

"Good, because I'm not whoever Michael thinks I am. I didn't have a 3.9 unweighted GPA, I barely had a GPA. I didn't volunteer in the mayor's office and I'm afraid of clowns. Like I don't even eat those delicious Mexican clown candies you see on the street for 50 cents." She finished with jazz hands. "There's been a big mistake. I'm not supposed to be here."

"Paleta Payaso," he replied, before whipping his gaze back up to her. "Wait, what?"


End file.
